by steve higgs
Debbie took her hands away from her boobs and swivelled back towards the table. The chair creaked significantly.
Mother appeared with a steaming sponge-pudding concoction and Dad followed with a tub of ice-cream, on which was balanced a scoop, and in his other hand a jug of steaming custard; all bases covered.
The dogs were doing their very best to trip them both so I grabbed first one collar and then the other to haul them out of the way. They could have an empty bowl to lick between them but I wanted their waistlines to stay where they were rather than expand.
My nuts still hurt. I wanted to form a foetal position and nurse them but decorum dictated that I take a helping of pudding and enjoy it, so I did. It was good, really good, but I swear I could feel my waist expanding as the calories hit my blood stream.
Spoons scrapped against bowls and dogs danced beneath chairs until I nodded to Mother and she took both her bowl and Dad’s and placed them on the floor.
The boys, rather than take one bowl each plunged together into the first before switching to the second and then back to the first to make sure they were completely clean.
Mum straightened up and appeared to have had a thought ‘Will you be in tomorrow, Tempest?’
‘In and out I guess, Mother. Why?’
‘Your Father and I were planning to pick chestnuts and there’s such an abundance of sweet chestnuts trees on the green in Finchampstead that we decided to go there for them. I thought we might pop in to warm up with a cup of tea. Or if you are out we could take the dogs out to collect nuts with us.’
It seemed reasonable to me. Sunday ought to be a day where I relax, read a paper, roast a chicken and watch TV but it was likely that I would be continuing my investigation into The Vampire case instead. Making sure the dogs went out for a good walk without me being involved sounded helpful.
‘Do you like chestnuts, Debbie?’ Mum Asked. ‘Maybe you and your children should come with us, we can all go to Tempest’s house afterwards.’
Oh, for heaven’s Sake! ‘Mother, I am sure Debbie has plans already and has no need to see my house.’ Please be busy, please be busy, please be busy.
Debbie seemed to think about it for a while before speaking ‘Charlie has a party at a friend’s house tomorrow, the other kids are with their father and I have lunch with friends organised after church. I could cancel though.’
‘No, don’t do that Debbie.’ I implored.
For once I got lucky and Debbie decided that she was otherwise engaged for the suggested event.
The conversation ranged for a while but it was not long before I felt it was acceptable for me to make my bid for freedom. I bid them all goodbye, kissed Mother lightly on the cheek, shook Dad’s hand and waved to Debbie rather than get too close and get caught in her gravitational pull.
An hour later I was back at home on my sofa with my feet curled under me and a dog on my lap. The six o’clock news came on followed by the local news which was what I had been waiting for.
First report was the incident in Aylesford. I had both hoped it would be and yet dreaded seeing it at the same time.
The report showed the outside of the house and footage of Police standing next to the crime scene barrier tape. All the vampire-wannabes were gone but there was an excellent shot of Big Ben and I sat handcuffed on the wall outside the house.
My phone rang. I pressed pause and answered it without needing to look at the screen to see who it was.
‘Good evening, Mother.’
‘Tempest!’ she shrieked. ‘I just saw you and that big friend of yours, what his name?’
‘Big Ben.’
‘Yes, Big Ben, on TV and handcuffed. What on earth were you doing this time?’ I opened my mouth to speak, but was cut off. ‘No, never mind. I don’t want to hear anything about it. This is what I get for letting you join the Army. None of the other ladies at the church have their boys on TV in handcuffs. Must you ruin my reputation?’
‘Mother.’ I replied in as patient a tone as I could muster. ‘I responded to a little old lady who asked for assistance. There were a few complications and the Police showed up. The cuffs were taken off as soon as the lady told the Police her story.’
‘Well, that’s not what it looked like.’
‘Mother. If the ladies in the church ask you about this you can tell them I was mistakenly arrested while aiding a pensioner. I am sure you can put some spin on this to make you look even more beneficent than usual.’
‘Hmm. We shall see.’
I could tell she had run out of steam so I bid her goodnight and disconnected.
I pressed play and watched the rest of the news. The coverage was not extensive but made reference to a vampire gang and suspected ties to the recent murders. The report was delivered by an on-the-scene team with a suitably serious tone.
The report ended with a short clip of Chief Inspector Quinn making a statement in which he said that human blood had been found on articles of clothing in the house and that a suspect had been taken into custody. He finished by speculating that he expected a swift conclusion to the case now.
I wondered about that.
Late Night Cabbie. Sunday September 25th 0156hrs
Harold McBeak had worked as a taxi driver for thirty-seven years, clocking up the most recent anniversary just a few days ago. During that time, he had changed car eighteen times, worked for five different companies and been offered sex, or a quick fiddle, as payment by drunk girls unable to pay their way home more times than he cared to remember. Only on one occasion had he succumbed to the girl’s advances and had never done so again because he felt so dirty afterwards.
He thought on that now as he waited in line across the road from Tequila Sunshine nightclub. The late crowd leaving town were the worst, you never knew what you were going to get, but he rarely had a fare that proved uneventful. Sometimes they vomited in the back of the car, he had learned long ago to have wipe clean seats fitted. Sometimes he would pick up a horny couple and they would practically have sex in the back of the car. On several occasions persons had wet themselves through intoxication and on one glorious night a young woman actually shat herself, the most amazing part of that story being that the boyfriend thought it funny.
Sometimes a group of young men would decide they didn’t need to pay for their ride so he kept an equalising stick under his seat. He couldn’t make them pay, especially once he had made one or two of them bleed, but he could drive away believing that they would think twice before pulling the same stunt again. The equalising stick was a shortened pick axe handle which tucked neatly alongside his seat and was invisible from the outside. It was always clean because following any use he would discard it as damning evidence. So, bring them on, he thought to himself. Let them try to not pay. Me and my old friend the equaliser will keep the score even.
Harold sat waiting his turn in the taxi rank outside Tequila Sunshine nightclub hoping that he would get a fare that was none of the above and perhaps just fell asleep instead.
A young man of perhaps twenty-five approached the cab in front, leant down, exchanged a few words and got into the rear of the vehicle. The car pulled away making Harold’s cab the one at the front of the queue. Glancing down at the clock on his dashboard Harold idly observed that it was 0234hrs as his back door opened. He glanced over his left shoulder to see a couple get in. The girl was inappropriately dressed for the time of year and outside temperature, wearing a thin top with a spaghetti halter neck strap and a micro denim skirt. Harold couldn’t see her shoes, but expected them to be stupidly tall. As she scooted along to let her boyfriend/ male companion/ tonight’s shag in she flashed a brief exposure of white cotton between her legs. Harold looked away self-consciously, but the girl was clearly oblivious.
‘Shut the door, its freezing.’ she demanded of the man settling next to her.
In the rear-view he was hard to see, tucked into the corner of the car behind the driver, but Harold could tell he was big. Really quite big. Certa
inly, twice the size of the girl. He was well dressed in a suit made from a dark material, possibly blue, but it was too dark to make out much detail and the man’s face was hidden behind Harold’s head rest.
‘Chart Sutton please.’ came her voice from the back seat. She was looking at her companion and leaning into him. The door clicked shut as she spoke again ‘I’ll give directions as we get closer.’
There seemed to be little need for conversation so Harold swung his attention to the road, checked his mirror and pulled out. As he accelerated down the hill towards the A229 he glanced into his rear-view mirror, the couple were locked at the lips, his hand was inside her top and hers were in his hair.
Better than someone taking a shit back there Harold thought as he turned left and joined the frugal late-night traffic heading out of the city.
Early Morning Surprise. Sunday September 26th 0817hrs
Bull and Dozer exploded into a cacophony of barking which brought me from peaceful slumber to instant disorientated alertness. The clock told me it was 0817hrs. Too early for anything mundane to be happening and then the next series of thumps and doorbell chimes told me what it was that had woken the dogs and got them so excited.
I sat up more fully in bed. The dogs were still barking, stood facing the bedroom door, tails wagging like crazy.
‘OK, OK. Enough now chaps, I’m up. Let’s go see who it is.’ Obedient as ever, they paid no attention to my request to cease their noise and kept right on barking.
I fumbled for sweat pants and a t-shirt and had to lean over the dogs to open the bedroom door while they were head-butting it in their haste to get out. Tiny legs propelling them along the hallway, they got about four metres before they had to stop at the top of the stairs. Dachshunds don’t go down stairs. The length of their legs and depth of the steps means that they bash the first step down with their chin before their feet can find it. They learn this very young, usually by falling down the stairs.
Scooping them up, one under each arm, I headed down the stairs just as the doorbell went once more. The dogs barked their reply, but silenced as I gave them a gentle squeeze and a shush.
‘Just a minute.’ I said to the shadowy visitor at my door. The frosted glass gave no indication of gender, age or race. It had to be someone I did not know, or they would have called out to me, or phoned me. I shooed the dogs out the back door so that I could answer the front without the visitor getting two daft dogs clawing their legs. The boys would run around the side of the house and strain their heads against the gate to bark once more at whomever might be there, but that was still a better solution. I left the back door open a crack so that they could get back in.
Heading back to the front door I ran through different scenarios in my head. This is my personal address not my business address, so only friends and family have it. Although of course addresses are not that hard to come by, so it could be anyone. Why though would anyone be so insistent on getting my attention this early in the day? Had I forgotten to do something? Was I supposed to be somewhere? Oh, my God. Someone had died! It was going to be a relative on the door that knew my address, but not my phone number and they were here to tell me Mum or Dad were in the hospital or the morgue.
Having now filled myself with dread I opened the door.
PC Hotstuff was stood illuminated in the early morning light outside.
I silently acknowledged that my most recent fantasy woman was waiting to be invited in and prayed that any remaining morning glory was not visible.
‘There has been another murder. In fact there has been a double murder with the same M.O. as the previous Vampire killings.’ PC Hotstuff was still outside, the cool air spilling in around my feet. While my sleep addled brain fought for something intelligent to say the voice from below reminded me that he didn’t like the cold and now was not a great time to appear to be hung like a baby sweetcorn.
‘Come in, please.’ I beckoned and stood back to allow her passage. She crossed over the threshold and I shut the cold back out where it belonged while failing, but really trying, to not check out her arse. PC Hotstuff was not in uniform and the transformation from clearly attractive woman in a dowdy and unflattering uniform into a sex goddess in jeans and a jacket was startling. With no effort at all she was stunning. Her hair was loose and curled a little at the edges as it hit her collar. Her clothes appeared new: Blue jeans, tan, calf length boots with a chunky heel and matching short, tan, leather jacket. The jacket was by Karen Millen, I could tell from the buttons, which meant it was neither cheap not stupidly expensive, suggesting that she gave thought to her appearance, but didn’t spend without consideration. She carried no handbag and wore very little makeup - just a swipe of mascara and she looked fantastic.
Worried that I might start to drool, I pushed past her into the kitchen as she hesitated in the entrance lobby. ‘Please, come through.’ I invited as I switched on the light.
‘Can I offer you tea?’ I had no coffee in the house, which I was suddenly regretting.
Her answer of ‘Yes please. If you have sweetener.’ gave me cause to shake that pointless concern from my mind.
‘Milk?’
‘Just a splash. Thank you.’
‘It’s skimmed milk, is that ok? It’s all I have.’ Skimmed was the only form of milk I had drunk for years, the result of a period in Bosnia many years ago where all we had for months was UHT (Ultra Horrible Tasting) milk because it would last. We were in the mountains overlooking Sarajevo in the winter so a hot brew was very welcome and the war-torn country had no supplies to offer. When we finally got back to somewhere with real milk it had been skimmed or nothing and to me it had tasted like nectar from the gods. Since then any other milk was unpalatable.
Anyway, Amanda said she was fine with it and given the choice of it or nothing I might never know if she was just being polite while secretly wishing she had opted for water.
The kettle began to bubble behind me as I leaned on the counter. The dogs were sniffing about her feet and she bent down to see them.
‘Be careful they don’t jump up at your face.’ I offered. She looked up smiling, which was radiant. ‘They can be a little excitable around new people and might nip your nose if they can get close enough. You are certainly in danger of being licked.’ I explained.
‘They are wonderful. What are their names?’ I told her their names as she continued to coo and pet them, their tails whizzing like metronomes on acid. The kettle boiled and I made two cups of tea. I was up now so the caffeine would do no harm and I could hit the gym early. Of course, I had coolly still not asked why she was at my house. The voice from my pants was certain it was just for sex and was begging me to get on with it.
‘So, a double murder?’
‘Yes, out near Chart Sutton.’ Bull was on his back letting her rub his belly.
Distracted by my dumb dogs she had fallen silent again ‘Chart Sutton you say?’
‘Sorry.’ she said standing up. ‘I’m a sucker for small dogs.’ She took the tea as I offered it to her and took a small sip before wrapping her hands around it as if to warm them up. ‘Like I said there was a double homicide. Maybe I can help you catch the killer.’ She locked eyes with me as she finished that sentence, holding my gaze for a few seconds before looking down to her cup as she took another sip.
‘Help me how, exactly?’
‘I looked you up last night when I finished my shift. You have a colourful past, but you are solving cases and this one seems right up your alley. Chief Inspector Quinn thought he had solved it yesterday when SOCO found human blood at Jim Butterworth’s place. The fool even went on TV last night announcing that he had a man in custody and he believed the case to be near closed. I don’t think my lot are going to get to this guy before he does it again, so maybe you can. I can assist with information I guess.’
I let a few seconds of silence pass to see if she would feel the need to fill the lack of void and tell me more. She did.
‘Plus, I have applied f
or promotion to detective four times and Chief Inspector Quinn knocks me back, or gives me the wrong date for the exam, or somehow always manages to scupper my plans. He is lead investigator and I want him to fail. If I can help you to find the killer maybe you can let me have the arrest and I can get out of uniform and finally make this into a career.’
I considered what she had said for a moment and then thought about what she had not said. There was a definite undertone. I looked squarely at her eyes and gave her a second to decide if she wanted to hold the gaze or not. When she looked away I spoke again.
‘Is there some history there with Chief Inspector Quinn?’ I asked the obvious question.
‘You are quite astute, but that is not something I wish to discuss at this time.’ No eye contact. She was looking into her cup reflecting on something. Was he a filth bag that made her skin crawl? Not really important at this point.
I put my tea cup down and pushed myself back and up to sit on the kitchen counter. Electing to leave whatever issue she had with Inspector Quinn to one side for now I asked instead for more detail on how I could help her. ‘So, just to be certain I have this right; you want me to help you catch The Vampire because it will further your career and you think I have the necessary skills to achieve that. I feel quite flattered, but tell me why I should help you.’
Her eyes snapped up at the question, her face seemingly unsure which emotion to go for and caught between disappointment, anger and surprise.
‘Please don’t misunderstand me.’ I continued. ‘I am not saying no, I just want to hear more detail on what my part in this is and why I should feel motivated to help you. I just realised that I don’t even know your name.’
PC Hotstuff smiled across at me, lighting up my world again and stepped forward with her hand extended. ‘Amanda Harper.’ she said.
‘Tempest Michaels.’ I replied, letting my hand fall away again. Her hand was soft and very warm where it had been gripping the mug of tea. Leaning in to shake her hand was the first time I had touched her and the closest I had been to her. My nose had picked up the gentle feminine twang of her perfume, not that I was able to determine what it was, but it smelled exquisite and expensive.